


six weeks | two weeks

by weirdmilk



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, Iwaizumi being hugely in love, M/M, kindaichi just being kindaichi, seijoh 3rd years being terrible but also supportive in their own way
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-09
Updated: 2020-11-09
Packaged: 2021-03-09 06:34:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27466513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/weirdmilk/pseuds/weirdmilk
Summary: Six weeks. It had been six weeks already.Six weeks of kissing Oikawa whenever he felt like it, not quite making up for eighteen years of lost time, but getting there. Six weeks of kissing behind closed doors, keeping one eye on the clock and one ear on whichever parent was nearest.It’s happiness so tangible that he can taste it - thick and sweet like cake batter. He thinks about Oikawa all the time. It’s embarrassing. It’s Oikawa’s crazy eyes, his smug smile always turned up to eleven, his outrageously soft hair, the coltish long legs that Iwaizumi’s learned that he loves having wrapped around his waist. He’s never felt something so expansive and all-encompassing: he thinks it must have rearranged every neuron, every cell, changing him at the molecular level. He knows what he wants the rest of his life to look like, now: much like the first eighteen years, but with more kissing.Iwaizumi tells Oikawa that he's going to college in California.
Relationships: Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru
Comments: 12
Kudos: 123





	six weeks | two weeks

Six weeks. It had been six weeks already.

Six weeks of kissing Oikawa whenever he felt like it, not quite making up for eighteen years of lost time, but getting there. Six weeks of kissing behind closed doors, keeping one eye on the clock and one ear on whichever parent was nearest. 

It’s happiness so tangible that he can taste it - thick and sweet like cake batter. He thinks about Oikawa all the time. It’s embarrassing. It’s Oikawa’s crazy eyes, his smug smile always turned up to eleven, his outrageously soft hair, the coltish long legs that Iwaizumi’s learned that he loves having wrapped around his waist. He’s never felt something so expansive and all-encompassing: he thinks it must have rearranged every neuron, every cell, changing him at the molecular level. He knows what he wants the rest of his life to look like, now: much like the first eighteen years, but with more kissing. 

And the delirious happiness is why it hurts so much: there’s a finite number of days that they can stay like this, staying in their own little word while shadows lengthen around them. These are halcyon days. He misses them already. The end is approaching slowly, inexorably, and that knowledge has been the sole reason that he can’t claim to be perfectly, completely happy.

Because he’s leaving, and he hasn’t told Oikawa. He’s been trying to find the words, the time, the justifications for this cleaving. But it’s been months since he received his official acceptance letter, and the hourglass is approaching empty, and he know it’s time. 

He had applied to UCI back in the winter, long before he and Oikawa had kissed for the first time. They had googled the school together, late into the freezing night. They’d lain on Oikawa’s bed, shoulders bumping, in the warm red glow of their space heater. They had gazed at the brick red roofs, the clean-cut American students smiling out at them with very white teeth. It had looked very different from anything they knew. 

‘Look at that,’ Iwaizumi had muttered, stabbing at a statistic. ‘29% acceptance rate, Shittykawa. That’s like - less than 1 in 3.’ 

‘Iwa-chan has the strength of three men!’ Oikawa had announced, shooting one of his thousand-watt smiles in Iwaizumi’s direction, which - although Iwaizumi would never tell him - did make him feel that way. 

He’d sent the application out into the ether, while Oikawa watched, and then put it out of his mind. Neither of them had mentioned it since. As for Oikawa, he’d been unusually cagey about post-graduation plans, and Iwaizumi isn’t sure whether it’s because he’s not made any yet, or because they’re unspeakably huge. He’s never made any moves without calculating beforehand every single potential outcome, and Iwaizumi can only assume that the older they get - the more his choices matter - the more exacting he’ll become. 

And so it is that on a warm July Friday, they’re at Matsukawa’s house for the final party of the summer. Soon, everyone there will scatter to the winds like dandelion seeds. Despite the music (loud, thumping) and the alcohol (cheap, flowing), Iwaizumi feels enveloped by melancholia. This is the last time they’ll all be together, drinking, talking, laughing, for a long time. Maybe it _is_ the last time. There’ll be new parties, and new friends, and new faces - but it will never be the same. This is something unique: the coda to a long, shining moment - of high school, of growing up - and once they go home, the world will be different. 

He and Oikawa are in the dark, sweet-smelling garden. There is a cherry tree fat with dark red fruits, and Oikawa has already stolen several handfuls worth, when Matsukawa hasn’t been looking. They had spent several hours with the rest of the group, but as often happens these days, they’ve drifted off, alone together.

Oikawa says, his lips stained red, ‘Look - a satellite,’ and points at the sky. They watch it pass, glittering in the black. Oikawa kisses him on the cheek for no reason. 

It has to be now, Iwaizumi thinks.

‘Oikawa,’ he says. 

Oikawa turns towards him. 

‘I have to tell you something,’ Iwaizumi says, heart thumping. 

Oikawa raises his eyebrows, looking spectacularly elven in the moonlight, eyelashes casting long shadows on his cheekbones, his long fingers elegantly curled around a glass of gently-fizzing pink alcohol. Where had he even found that? Iwaizumi wonders, baffled. He, himself, is drinking beer from a mug.

‘I have... ‘ Iwaizumi feels suddenly sick in a way that has nothing to do with the alcohol he’s been necking all night - liquid courage - and he swallows it back. ‘I…’ but he stops again, stymied by the desperate desire to not have to say it out loud. 

‘Iwa-chan, please don’t make me stand here all night,’ Oikawa says loftily, turning his attention to the nails on his left hand. 

‘You remember UCI?’ Iwaizumi asks.

Oikawa stills, his perma-smug smile failing, and the intensity of his gaze increases ten-fold. Iwaizumi guesses that he doesn’t need to say any more; he can tell from Oikawa’s expression - purposely neutral, unnaturally still - that he already understands.

‘I got in,’ Iwaizumi says, anyway. 

Oikawa, who has barely let Iwaizumi have a moment’s peace since he learned to talk, is silent. He avoids Iwaizumi’s gaze, looking down into the depths of his pink drink. He lets out a slow breath.

‘Earth to Shittykawa,’ Iwaizumi says, once the silence has gone on a few beats too long, and Oikawa just stares at him further, head tilted like a confused dog, his hand frozen in mid-air. 

‘America,’ Oikawa says finally, his voice sounding like someone else’s. ‘Well, congratulations, Iwa-chan!’ It doesn’t sound right. It’s not how they talk to each other. 

‘Yeah,’ Iwaizumi says. ‘Thanks.’ 

‘So when do you go?’ Oikawa puts his drink down on the garden table a little too hard. There's a slight tremble in his jaw. 

‘Um,’ Iwaizumi says, and his stomach makes several backflips, because if he has just dropped a grenade on Oikawa, then this will be what unpins it, ‘Two weeks.’ 

Oikawa’s face turns the blotchy pink of badly-mixed frosting. ‘Two weeks?’ His voice is trembling now too, but he’s making a supreme effort to keep it steady. 

‘Yeah,’ Iwaizumi says. ‘I - didn’t know how to tell you. I’m sorry.’ 

‘So you didn’t tell me at all?’ Oikawa's voice is light, but needle-sharp.

‘I’m telling you now,’ Iwaizumi says. ‘I - we were having such a good time, Oikawa.’ 

Oikawa neither confirms nor denies it, but his eyebrows knit together a little. Then he says, ‘So is this… it?’ 

Iwaizumi doesn’t understand the question. He frowns at Oikawa and shakes his head. ‘What?’ 

‘The end,’ Oikawa says. ‘I mean, that’s how it ends: you in America, me in Japan.’ 

Iwaizumi feels a swell of anger at the crudeness of the suggestion. Is that how easily Oikawa would give him up? ‘What the fuck, Shittykawa? Is that how _you_ think it ends? No!’

‘Okay,’ Oikawa says very calmly. ‘Okay.’ His chest is rising and falling in quick little movements. He still won’t look at Iwaizumi. ‘I guess the girls are pretty there, Iwa-chan.’ He made a slightly vulgar gesture in front of his chest. ‘Huge boobs.’

‘What the fuck?’ Iwaizumi manages again, after a pause during which he has to fight down the deeply ingrained urge to strangle his insane boyfriend. ‘Can you give me the smallest bit of credit here? Why the fuck are you my _boyfriend_ if I want a girl with huge boobs?’ 

‘I’m your boyfriend,’ Oikawa says very deliberately, ‘and you didn’t even tell me you were -’ He swallows, cutting himself off, and Iwaizumi recognises that he’s trying very hard not to cry. 'I -' 

He doesn't look at Iwaizumi as he makes his way to the garden gate. He doesn't need to run to move quickly; his legs are very long, and he's unlatched the gate before Iwaizumi has unrooted himself from the spot. 

‘Oikawa?’ Iwaizumi yells after him, and jogs towards him. But Oikawa is faster than him - always has been - and by the time Iwaizumi opens the gate into the sleepy residential road in front of him, Oikawa has entirely disappeared: a ghost in the night. 

He stands there for a moment, the image of Oikawa’s about-to-cry face playing on a loop in his mind. He feels a lump in his own throat, and drags the back of his hand across his eyes angrily. He won’t cry in public. That’s not him.

He heads back into Matsukawa’s garden, and is met with a captive audience. Matsukawa, Hanamaki, and Kindaichi are all staring at him, triplet expressions of astonishment.

Iwaizumi stares back at them hopelessly. He has no defence. Guilty as charged. 

‘Are you and Oikawa like - together?’ Kindaichi asks, astounded, before Matsukawa slaps the back of his head. 

Iwaizumi doesn’t know, at that moment, and it’s _that_ realisation that makes him lose any semblance of self-control. Horror of horrors - he bursts into tears. The shame of it is unspeakable.

‘Hey,’ Matsukawa’s calm voice says from somewhere in front of him, ‘hey, you wanna get outta here for a bit?’ 

Iwaizumi nods, too embarrassed to lower his hands from his wet face, but feels warm hands pulling him by the shoulders. There’s the squeak of metal on wood, and then they’re out in the quiet street, the sounds of the party muted and distant. 

He finally dares to open his eyes, half-expecting to see the entire Seijoh volleyball team, watching him, rapt. But it’s just the three of them: Matsukawa, Hanamaki, and Kindaichi, and he’s relieved and grateful in equal measure. 

‘I,’ he starts, ‘am so sorry.’ He forces a laugh. ‘God, what a mess.’ 

‘Don’t be silly,’ Matsukawa says, ‘Oikawa makes everyone cry at one point or another.’ Kindaichi shuffles his feet, and Matsukawa adds, ‘or at many points.’ 

Iwaizumi shakes his head. ‘No, he was… it’s not his fault. It’s my fault.’ 

Matsukawa looks politely doubtful. His eyes are narrowed, flickering to Iwaizumi’s neck, where grape-coloured bruises from a particularly intense make-out session still linger. It's not difficult to put it all together, and Matsukawa isn't stupid, and Iwaizumi has been hauling a lot of secrets around with him, lately. It’s getting heavy. 

He takes a deep breath. ‘Yeah, it's what you think,’ he says. ‘For six weeks now.' He looks Matsukawa square in the eyes,unapologetic. 

Matsukawa’s eyebrows raise so high that they get lost in his hairline, and Hanamaki gasps. Kindaichi says, ‘What?’ 

‘He’s been dating Oikawa for six weeks,’ Matsukawa translates, keeping his eyes on Iwaizumi. 

Iwaizumi smiles a watery smile. He shrugs. ‘How awful is that,’ he says, but the joke falls a little flat. 

‘It looks pretty awful, yeah.’ Hanamaki gestures at Iwaizumi’s red-rimmed eyes. 

‘I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,’ Iwaizumi says, feeling on the verge of tears all over again. ‘I never thought it would last this long - and it felt too weird to say it out loud to you guys, and I didn’t want you to think I was insane…’ He is either very drunk, very emotional, or both, because this level of verbal spillage is unheard of for him. 

‘I do think you’re insane for wanting to put up with Oikawa even more than you already do,’ Hanamakai says, but he’s smiling, and there’s no disapproval in it. ‘Going by tonight, anyway…’ 

Iwaizumi sniffs pathetically. 

‘We didn’t see everything,’ Matsukawa says, consolingly, ‘but we did hear him talk about a girl with -’ he uses air quotes for the next bit - ‘huge boobs.’ He pauses. ‘I mean, no would blame you.’ 

‘Oh my God,’ Iwaizumi says, ‘no, what the fuck.’ He groans. ‘He’s just a fucking psycho, as usual, and thinks I’m going to cheat on him with an American girl.’ 

Hanamaki frowns. ‘Why would you cheat on him with an American?’ 

Iwaizumi bites his lip. ‘I got into UCI. I’m going in two weeks.’

If anything, the three of them look far more dumbstruck than they had done when Iwaizumi had admitted to being in a relationship with Oikawa, and he files that unnerving information away, refusing to consider the implications. 

Hanamaki recovers first. ‘That’s great, Iwaizumi! Congrats, man!’ 

‘Thanks,’ Iwaizumi says flatly. 

‘Hey,’ Matsukawa says, ‘he’s right - don’t let Oikawa ruin this. It’s really cool.’ 

Iwaizumi rushes to Oikawa’s defence. ‘He didn’t ruin shit,’ he says, frowning. ‘He was just shocked.’

‘Wait,’ Hanamaki says, ‘was that you telling him? For the first time?’ 

Iwaizumi nods - Hanamaki sucks in air through his teeth - and mumbles, ‘I just couldn’t tell him before… when he heard, he freaked, and ran off. And he’s so fast,’ he adds miserably. ‘And God damn, we were having such a good summer.’

‘Okay,’ Matsukawa says hastily, ‘no details needed.’ 

‘He is fast,’ Kindaichi agrees, proudly. Hanamaki pinches him. 

‘I’m sorry I didn’t tell you guys about _that_ , either,’ Iwaizumi says, privately wondering how many times he’s going to have to apologise for every decision he’s made in the past few months, ‘but Oikawa would have smelled the secrecy on you and he’d have found out in about five minutes.’ 

‘Hey, it’s fine.’ Matsukawa shrugs. ‘The less information that Oikawa tries to suck from my soul, the better.’ 

‘I think we know what Oikawa will be sucking instead,’ Kindaichi says, smirking, and it’s so astonishing to hear coming from Kindaichi’s mouth that Iwaizum’s mouth drops open, his misery momentarily forgotten. 

‘Kindaichi!’ he squawks, half mortified and half delighted. 

‘Oh, God, I will never be the same,’ Hanamai says, at the same time that Matsukawa says, sounding genuinely distressed, ‘Jesus Christ, Kindaichi, who are you?’ 

‘He’ll get over it,’ Matsukawa says gently, once everyone has recovered, and Iwaizumi's shoulders cave in again. The gentleness makes Iwaizumi feel hotly embarrassed all over again. He’s not used to being the one who needs comforting. ‘You know how he is. He hates surprises.’ He grimaces. ‘And that news is… pretty surprising.’ 

‘I know,’ Iwaizumi repeats. He knows that he should have told Oikawa sooner. But then, a more selfish part of him thinks that he wouldn’t trade those six blissful weeks for anything. He suddenly feels exhausted, and deeply lonely, thinking of all that he has to leave. He doesn’t understand why growing up has to feel so much like saying goodbye to a life that he’s just beginning to love. 

‘I’m gonna go home,’ he tells the group. ‘Sorry. Not feeling going back.’

‘Do you wanna be on your own?’ Hanamaki asks, frowning.

Iwaizumi laughs grimly. ‘I better get used to it, no?’ 

He steps backwards, away from the three of them. He stuffs his hands in his pocket. ‘I’ll be back for Christmas,’ he offers, with a tentative smile. 

Matsukawa smiles at him. ‘We’ll have to get together then,’ he says, ‘all of us. Oikawa too.’ 

Iwaizumi has never shared Oikawa’s ease with people. He’s always been a little jealous of that, if nothing else. And he feels that envy now, because there are so many things he wants to say to these three friends who have so easily accepted the idea of him and Oikawa being a couple, who have so naturally made him feel a little less hopeless.

Oikawa would have said something meaningful, Iwaizumi thinks. Oikawa would have had a speech prepared. But he’s not Oikawa, and he’s no good with words, and all he manages is an awkward, ‘Thanks, guys.’ He hopes they understand, and with a wave, he turns away from them, and starts the journey home. 

He takes the long walk back, through the fields. He takes his sneakers off, rolls his jeans up, and wades through the little stream that backs onto his street. It’s still summer, but the water is cold. The sky is dar, full of cottony clouds playing with the moon, and the air smells fresh.

He and Oikawa had played in the river all the time, as kids. He can’t remember the last time. 

When he clambers up the grassy verge, he leaves his shoes off, carrying them both in his left hand. His bare feet leave wet footprints as he walks silently home. 

He’s still thinking about Oikawa, a noiseless, throbbing drumbeat in his mind. The nearer he gets to his house, the more he misses him. His home and Oikawa’s presence are so entwined that his absence feels particularly miserable. They’d walked to school together every morning. Oikawa has always been a naturally early riser, and Iwaizumi had had to get used to Oikawa waiting outside his house looking perfect and energetic before even the sun had fully awoken. He wonders if he’ll ever be able to see the clock hit seven without thinking about Oikawa in his school uniform, leaning against the wall, thumbing at his phone. 

‘Iwa-chan?’ 

Iwaizumi whirls around, and Oikawa is standing there, hair fluttering in the breeze, as beautiful and unlikely as a mirage, and Iwaizumi stutters out a laugh. ‘Tooru,’ he whispers, reverent. 

Iwaizumi can’t stop thinking, over and over, how beautiful he is. He wonders if this is how everyone feels about their partners: bursting at the seams, heavy with love. He wonders how anyone gets anything done, ever. 

‘Can I come in?’ Oikawa asks sullenly. He looks better than he had done an hour ago: dry-eyed and determined. 

‘Yeah, yeah,’ Iwaizumi says breathlessly, trying not to panic, and half-succeeding. ‘You don’t need to ask that.’ 

Oikawa, heading towards Iwaizumi’s front door already, shoots him a sly smile from over his shoulder, and Iwaizumi swallows. 

Iwaizumi lets them both in, trying to minimise the noise. The house is dark - his parents must be asleep - and they tiptoe up the creaky stairs to Iwaizumi’s bedroom. Oikawa, never one to respect Iwaizumi’s boundaries for any longer than it took to get what he wanted, flops down hard on the bed, staring balefully up at him. 

Iwaizumi sits a little more cautiously down next to him, crossing his legs. They don’t fit as well on the same bed, these days. Oikawa scoots over and puts his head in Iwaizumi’s lap. His hair always smells so good, Iwaizumi thinks, and he twirls little strands around his fingers. 

Oikawa is quiet, picking at a piece of sticky tape residue on Iwaizumi’s wall. ‘I knew you were hiding something,’ he says finally

Iwaizumi inclines his head slightly in concession. He had been surprised that he’d managed to keep it quiet the whole time. 

‘There’s no time to be mad at you,’ Oikawa says, eyes closed where he lies in Iwaizumi’s lap, ‘but you should have told me before.’ 

‘I know,’ Iwaizumi says honestly. 

‘But there’s just no time,’ Oikawa repeats on an exhale. ‘You know, if you’re still in, I’m still in. He fixes Iwaizumi with one of his x-ray stares. It’s a look that he’s seen on the court many times, and it always makes Iwaizumi feel that Oikawa just knows, somehow, everything there is to know about him - just gets it, without being told a single thing. 

‘Of course I’m still in.’ Iwaizumi strokes a finger up Oikawa’s sharp jaw. ‘I just hoped… _you_ were.’ 

Oikawa says, ‘I know I’m a lot, Iwa-chan.’ 

Iwaizumi snorts. That’s putting it mildly. 

‘I can handle things,’ Oikawa insists. ‘I’m not that crazy, you know. You don’t need to protect me from things.’ 

‘I _want_ to protect you from things,’ Iwaizumi says stoutly. ‘I love you. That’s what people do when they love other people.’ 

Oikawa flushes and turns his head away, his eyelashes brushing against Iwaizumi’s knee. It’s a reminder that despite his Machiavellian nature, his vast intellect and prodigious skill, he’s just a boy, underneath. ‘Iwa-chan!’ he squeaks, ‘warn me before you say things like that.’ 

Iwaizumi smiles, possessed by a new surge of familiar affection, and leans forward to kiss him. Oikawa grumbles, but Iwaizumi doesn’t miss the way that he cranes his neck for it. 

‘I do love you too,’ Oikawa says, very seriously, with the same concentration as someone signing a legal document. ‘I’m all in, Iwa-chan. It doesn’t matter what you do. Do you understand? It’s us, forever.’ 

Iwaizumi feels that this is the kind of statement that under only mildly differently circumstances would come across monumentally threatening. It’s walking the line already, accompanied as it is Oikawa’s deep, permeating gaze.

There are two truths that he knows. He’s going to California. He’s in love with Oikawa. Both of them can co-exist. ‘It’s us,’ he says, and laughs again, hardly daring to believe it. ‘Holy shit. It really is us.’ 

‘Now you’re getting it,’ Oikawa says. ‘What’s America? We can have the whole world.’ 

Iwaizumi loves this boy so fiercely. 

‘I’m not going to stick around here forever either, you know,’ Oikawa continues. ‘Irihata keeps introducing me to people.’ 

Iwaizumi frowns. ‘Like who?’ 

Oikawa smiles, a predatory gleam passing across his face for a moment. ‘I’ll tell you everything when it works out.’ 

Iwaizumi frowns, his curiosity piqued, but he doesn’t push the issue, as he feels that he’s already dodged one bullet tonight, and it’s probably best not to reload Oikawa’s gun for him. 

Oikawa half-smiles at the pointed silence, and shakes his head lazily. ‘Not yet, Iwa-chan. When it’s time.’

‘Do you hear yourself,’ Iwaizumi scoffs, but he’s so happy to have Oikawa back in his arms that he can’t dredge up much heat.

They lie together for a few minutes, content in each other’s company. Oikawa looks like a cosseted cat, and Iwaizumi knows he’s not helping his spoiled tendencies by stroking his hair. 

Oikawa glances at his watch, which probably cost more than Iwaizumi’s entire wardrobe. ‘Two in the morning.’ He smiles a little sadly. ‘How many hours until you go?’ 

Iwaizumi’s stomach does a flip. ‘Don’t,’ he mutters. ‘I don’t want to think about it.’ 

Oikawa sits up in one fluid, water-like motion, and kisses him hard. ‘You have to go.’ 

‘Oh, now you’re trying to get rid of me?’ 

Oikawa chews on his lip for a moment, looking uncharacteristically serious. ‘I want you to not have any regrets,’ is what he says in the end. 

The obvious counterargument hangs ripe in the air, but they both pretend they don’t see it. 

‘Maybe it’s crazy,’ Iwaizumi mumbles. ‘I don’t know anyone in America. I don’t know anything about Americans, beyond the fact they’re all really tall and fat.’ 

Oikawa giggles. ‘Maybe that’s all there is to know.’ He kisses Iwaizumi again, more sweetly, and Iwaizumi wonders why he’s voluntarily giving this up - why he’s leaving this behind. Not behind, he corrects himself: he’s keeping it safe, until he can have it back. He sighs. 

They had been born five weeks apart. Iwaizumi doesn’t remember how to live in a world where they don’t live two streets away, in and out of each other’s pockets.

Oikawa leans against him so that their foreheads are touching. ‘Come home to me in the end,’ he says. It’s not quite a request. ‘Wherever that is.’ He smiles to himself, secret and knowing. 

‘Always,’ Iwaizumi says. He knows with total certainty that wherever either of them are, whether it’s Japan, or California, or neither, that the red string tying them together will hold strong, keep its colour. Oikawa belongs to him. His own golden boy, the love of his life - his entire life. 

What _is_ America to them, really? Iwaizumi considers it. They have planes, don’t they? And they have phones, and they have webcams, and most importantly, they have each other. It might be hard. It might be terrible, sometimes. But he can bear anything, so long as he knows that somewhere on the same planet, under the same sun, Oikwa is waiting for him - thinking about him - loving him. That’s something. It’s everything. 

He’s so lucky to have something that makes saying goodbye so hard. 

He squeezes Oikawa hard. ‘It’s us,’ he echoes, and Oikawa’s smile is so beatific and bright that it could outshine the sun. 

‘The world next, Iwa-chan,’ he says, eyes burning through the darkness, and Iwaizumi believes him.

**Author's Note:**

> i swear i have been absent from iwaoi hell for like 2 years but this new timeskip info has like... reinvigorated me so much ...
> 
> im just trying to get back into the iwaoi groove and write some short pieces and yeeeeaaaaah here we go! i'll probably add some more short pieces to this (as a series) but let's see what happens! i'm a lil rusty but having a good time lol
> 
> twitter @ [weirdlymilky](https://twitter.com/weirdlymilky) (it's rarely used, but when it is used it's just oikawa fanart lol)


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